


Third Wheel

by octopus_fool



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Khazâd November, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 05:51:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12675687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octopus_fool/pseuds/octopus_fool
Summary: Frerin is not jealous of Thorin being the older one. He is, however, jealous of what Thorin has with Dwalin. One-sided Frerin/Dwalin. Side pairings Thorin/Dwalin and Dís/Víli.





	Third Wheel

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 9 of [Khazâd November](https://a-grump-of-dwarves.tumblr.com/post/166304116735/khaz%C3%A2d-november-2017), the additional prompt was "pain".  
> 

Frerin was not jealous of Thorin being the older one, the heir to the throne with more rights. After all, Frerin had more freedoms instead and was generally subject to less scrutiny. As a dwarfling, he did sometimes crave the additional attention Thorin got during ceremonies and the preparations for those. As he got older, he realised that that was not the kind of attention that was any fun at all.

 

At the same time, he also realised that there was another kind of attention he craved that Thorin got rather more of. Frerin watched Thorin’s friendship with Dwalin and now, he really did feel like the second son, the spare. 

The door closed on him when they discussed politics. When Frerin asked to join them on one of their excursions across the countryside, they told him he was still to young for it. 

It took Frerin a few more years to realise that it was Dwalin he wanted to spend time with, not just the two of them. But whenever he asked Dwalin to train with him, he had already agreed to train with Thorin. 

“I’m sorry, Frerin, but Thorin and I really have to practice this complicated new movement. Maybe some other time.”

“I could practice it too? Gróin says I’m really good for my age.”

“You’re too small, Frerin,” Thorin stepped in as Dwalin looked on awkwardly. “You’ll learn it yourself in a few years. Until then, go and practice with dwarves your own age.”

Frerin fumed and stomped away. He was only five years younger than Thorin, and three younger than Dwalin. 

 

Sometimes, Dwalin took pity on Frerin and trained with him briefly before going back to training with Thorin. Happiness struggled with shame inside him, since he did not want to be pitied. Frerin could not say exactly what he wanted though.

 

He figured that out when he turned the corner of a disused tunnel and saw Thorin and Dwalin pressed against the wall, their mouths fused together. Thorin’s hands were under Dwalin’s tunic and the sound that escaped Dwalin’s mouth would haunt Frerin’s dreams for weeks. Frerin turned back around the corner he had come from and fled. Frerin had not realised emotions could be this painful.

 

He stayed away from them. He avoided his brother’s eyes and Dwalin’s presence. Still, Frerin noticed them looking at him and exchanging glances and whispers when they thought he wasn’t looking.

One afternoon when Frerin was writing and essay about Harad, Thorin stepped into his room and closed the door behind him.

“You must not tell anyone, do you understand? Not a single person. You do know what they might do to Dwalin if somebody finds out?”

Frerin stared at Thorin. It had not occurred to him to tell on them. He only wanted to forget, forget what he had seen and most of all, forget what he felt. And now he wanted to forget the tone in Thorin’s voice when he used Dwalin’s wellbeing as a way to pressure Frerin. The tone that implied that Thorin _knew_. 

“You might want to be more careful then,” Frerin said evenly and turned back to his homework. 

 

It became a bit like a sixth sense to Frerin to know when Thorin and Dwalin both left a celebration for half an hour or claimed to be at training when they weren’t. His blood thumped loudly in his ears, his stomach churled unpleasantly. He didn’t want to know, he would have given anything not to know. And he hated the satisfied look on his brother’s face when he returned, shortly after Dwalin did. 

 

In exile, once they had acquired tents, it was Thorin who shared with Dwalin. 

“You could share a tent with Frerin,” Thráin had suggested towards Thorin when they got the tents.

“No, he can share with Dís.”

It was amazing what they got away with under the veil of being sword brothers. 

 

Frerin was aware that his parents probably expected him to keep an eye on Dís’s virtue. He could not care less when she snuck out at night when she thought he was asleep. 

On the evening of the fifth day Dís had rushed out of the tent with a hand clamped to her mouth, Frerin decided he was done pretending he didn’t know about his sister’s secret in addition to his brother’s secret. 

“So will you be marrying Víli then?”

Dís grinned at him. “I don’t think our parents will have much choice but to allow the connection now, no matter how much they disapprove of it.”

Frerin hadn’t looked at it from that angle. “Congratulations, then. Although I think I should probably wait with my congratulations until you have suffered through the inevitable yelling. But good on you that you managed to get what you wanted.”

“It’s not that difficult if you know how to make things work for you,” Dís grinned. “Is there anyone you have your eyes set on? I might be able to help you figure things out. It’s not as if Thorin needs my help in getting what he wants.”

“You know about that?”

Dís laughed. “Well, they aren’t exactly subtle, not if you’ve got eyes and half a brain that isn’t too walled in by old conventions.”

“You can say that twice.”

Something in his tone made Dís scrutinise Frerin in that way only she could and that nobody particularly liked being looked at. 

“Are you going to make a fuss about them? I wouldn’t really have taken you to be... Oh. Oh shit.”

Frerin never should have started this conversation, never should have allowed it to flow in this direction. 

“What?” He asked, doing his best to seem confused and innocent. 

“Why didn’t I realise earlier?”

“Maybe because there’s nothing to realise?” Frerin tried.

“I’m so sorry, Frerin. That has got to hurt.”

It did. It hurt more than he had wanted to admit and before he really realised it, Frerin was sobbing onto Dís’s shoulder, all his hurt finally having found an outlet. 

 

Dís had told him to be careful, that she needed him to help her teach her child to be a decent dwarf once it was born.

Except that there was no way to be careful in a battle, especially not in one like Azanulbizar. The arrow struck him and he fell, fading in and out of consciousness, snatches of battle coming to his awareness through the pain. 

It was Dwalin who found him. Dwalin who assessed his wounds and tried to stop the bleeding. It was Dwalin who told him to stay awake, that help was coming soon. 

It was quite nice really, that it wasn’t a stranger who had found him. Nice to have Dwalin talking to him, possibly longer than he had ever talked to Frerin before. Nice to have Dwalin to himself for once.

And Dwalin kissed him. Softly, hesitatingly on the forehead. It was then that Frerin knew what he had been fearing. He was dying.

He wanted to meet Dís’s little one, to teach his little nephew how to pester his Amad and be a general annoyance. He wanted to live.

But there were worse ways of going, completely alone on the battlefield or tortured by orcs. And he was so tired and Dwalin was smiling at him through his tears.


End file.
